I’ll be writing number 3 whilst I’m on holiday.
Originally posted on Words Unheard Writing Community:
Choose one prompt a week, or do them all if you feel up for the challenge. Feel free to send us your finished pieces, no matter the length or quality, we’d love to see how you do.
Prompt 1: Unpacking Thought Verbs
Inspired by Chuck Palahniuk’s writing advice, this prompt will challenge you to ban ‘thought verbs’. Each time you use one, you must unpack it by showing it, not telling. For example:
‘Sarah knew Oliver was hiding something’ becomes:
‘Oliver shifted his weight for a second time, still not meeting her gaze. He seemed fascinated with his cuffs. Oliver King was many things, but a fidget was not one of them.’
Here are a few more examples of thought verbs: believes, considers, remembers, wonders, thinks, understands, notices. The prompt can also apply to feeling verbs such as likes, loathes, dreads, admires. You can write it…
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Another assignment for this year. We had to adapt and re-write fairy-tale, so I chose the Little Mermaid… it’s hard to even imagine the sheer violence and impact of Pearl Harbor, but I like to think that I have attempted to do so with the utmost respect. Thanks!
A couple of friends have recently undertaken the huge challenge of editing an online magazine/blog to showcase upcoming writers. I’ve been featured on it!
Originally posted on Thursday Identity:
‘The weak noise of her eyes easily files my impatience to an edge.’
More often than not I have wanted to take this ethereal blade of avidity and place it in her skull. Yet I resist. I resist because I love her. I resist because every morning these same eyes still take my breath away.
I resist because I am man.
The one thing man must do, amongst other things, is keep his sanity. This ability to think is what separates the man from the angel. Men bleed. Angels bleed. But to think, to have that murmur of morality inside your head; that’s what truly makes us human.
I’m sure that’s why my patience has come to an end. Humanity is knowing your name, knowing where you were born, your parent’s names, your favourite food, your favourite book. Knowing is an art. To take that away is, well…
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Cradle me in your arms
and feed me your secrets
like every one is a little aeroplane.
I’ll take some bites with a pinch of salt
and others like a fine Chinese delicacy
(that will probably taste like feet).
Cut me a slice of silence:
frosted and gilded like a wedding cake
– but of course, I’ve never been much of a fan
of wedding cake.
What I’d really like, you see,
is the tenderloin,
the finest cut you have,
so I can palate
everything your lips have tasted
and every time your body’s wept
and every tinge of pink scar-tissue
that your carving-knife has left behind.
So cut me a steak, or two, or three:
expose your bones
so I can taste the secrets
you will take to your grave.
Hello. This is one of my main assignment pieces for this year, an adaption of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I envisaged it as a whole novel (it will probably never be completed), but here’s the first couple of chapters. My aim was to write a Frankenstein that is a modern homage to the original text, much like what the BBC has done with Sherlock Holmes, rather than a sequel or straight adaption. Enjoy!